


keep my pretty mouth shut (& there's an old man)

by paperdragon



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 19:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13278312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdragon/pseuds/paperdragon
Summary: When she enters Russia’s home for the first time, she is the German Democratic Republic, and he introduces her to his sister’s and the rest of his so-called family. ‘This is fear,’ she wants to tell him, ‘No family was born out of fear.’But that would be lying, and he would call her out on it.orgilberta, the war, and what comes after.





	keep my pretty mouth shut (& there's an old man)

Prussia is well aware of what happens when a nation is taken over by another. What happens when a nation’s land is reabsorbed by another. So when, after the War, they are all signing the treaty, she doesn’t react much, because she’s imagined it far too many times, both under a free sky and in a rotting jail cell.

Her little brother, she sees, has tears in his eyes, for the first time since Versailles. They allow the siblings a brief moment to say goodbye; no ally is quite that heartless yet. Gilberta places the palm of her hand on the side of his face. It hurts, to see him like this. _This is not what I wanted for you,_ she thinks.

They say nothing. They’ve never been for too many words – a far-too-casual: ‘See you around, bruder’, and a short nod in reply, and she heads over to Russia.

The look he gives her is long, unreadable. They’ve never liked each other, and she’s done far crueler things to her friends. Even Hungary, she’s beaten to the ground on occasion; humiliated, because that’s the way things are supposed to be done. Prussia does not care too much, anymore. Her time has been over for far too long, and she’s known it longer. She won’t argue against what is done, because she doesn’t have the right to.

After all, she would do the same, if the tables were turned.

Russia holds the door open. Prussia walks out; doesn’t look back.

.

When she enters Russia’s home for the first time, she is the German Democratic Republic, and he introduces her to his sister’s and the rest of his so-called _family._ ‘This is fear,’ she wants to tell him, ‘No family was born out of fear.’

But that would be lying, and he would call her out on it. So Gilberta keeps her mouth shut. There will be time for outrageous anger, and yelling, and hitting, and fighting back and staging rebellions. Now is not the time. The moment after the battle is silence and relief, regardless of winning or losing; the moment before it begins is silence and waiting. The moment after that is silence, only. Gilberta has fought enough wars to know this.

Ukraine shows her Gilberta her room, and at that she is shocked. She thought it would be much worse. But she says nothing. Now is not the time.

 _Wouldn’t Austria be proud,_ she thinks, more bitterly than she’d want to accept, _I’ve finally learnt to keep my mouth shut like the proper little lady no one could get me to be._

There is little sleep to be had, but the wash room she is provided with is functional, and after a long time in the dirt filled trenches, Prussia will enjoy what she can. She doesn’t know if she has merely been given this room to lull her into a false state of satisfaction, before it is taken away from her. It seems cruel.

It seems far too much like something Russia would do.

The bath water is cold, but the thought of not having it again spurs her into getting into it. She almost screams, but bites down on a knuckle instead. As she scrubs away the layers of dirt, she wonders what her brother is doing.

She is under Russia alone, but Germany has been portioned off to three powers, and she does not need to imagine the pain of such a proud nation having simple decision’s being taken by a council of three. Prussia knows how he feels; she raised him like her own.

 _Did I think I was God,_ she wonders, shivering in ice cold water, _making you in my image._

Her hair is long. It’s up to her shoulders. She’s never kept it longer than her ears, ever since that awful debacle in the 1700’s where she simply had to. Most she remembers of her long hair was when it came up to her breasts, back when she had trained America’s army. Had it really only been so long?

Friedrich had let her cut her hair; she’d loved the man. He was the only man Prussia had loved, as a nation, as a person.

She abruptly came back to herself, and scrubbed with her nails. The bath water was almost brown when she was done, and her pale skin ran through with red stripes where she’d been less than gentle. It burned when she drained the tub, and filled fresh water in.

 _Get used to it,_ she thought to herself, _things will only get worse from here on out._

_._

Gilberta doesn’t see Russia for the next few days. For almost two weeks, she barely sees him around.

She is called to dinner, and she eats, and she tries to joke with them all. No one laughs. It’s like that movie she went to watch with Germany once, bad plot and dull flat-liners, but they’d spent an hour already do they might as well finish it.

Lithuania always cooks.  Prussia is standing near the kitchen, bright early morning. She hasn’t slept in a long time, and early mornings are always nice to see. She doesn’t expect anybody to be up, but Lithuania is there, standing at one of the counters, peeling potatoes.

It’s very methodical. Lithuania takes a potato, dips it into a bowl of water, and then peels it. He then places it into a pot of already-peeled potatoes. Rinse. Repeat.

‘So, how are things with the in-law’s?’ Prussia asks. There’s nothing else to say. Nothing else to answer. No questions to ask that they all don’t have the same answers to.

Lithuania barely jumps. _He’s probably used to creepy people popping up out of nowhere,_ Gilberta thinks. She almost wants to laugh.

‘Good, I suppose,’ Lithuania says, hands steady. ‘I think they might just like my cooking more than me.’

‘Can’t blame them,’ Gilberta replies, easily. She’s always been good with political conversations – swords and guns, more so, she admits. But she didn’t exactly remain a world power as a dumb uncultured hick who didn’t know how to hold conversations with the richest of them. ‘You’re a great cook.’

‘Thank you,’ Lithuania replies. It is as if nothing fazes him.

‘I’d offer to help,’ Gilberta says, laughing a little, ‘but I’m afraid I’d just ruin it. My hands weren’t meant for just peeling potatoes, no offense.’

The look Lithuania gives her makes her remember Brandenburg of all people. When he’d learnt of the unification.

‘Neither was mine,’ Lithuania says.

There’s a cough from near the door. They both turn immediately.

Russia is a large man. He always has been. Even America, who has more might strength than Russia, only barely reaches his height.

Even at the height of military might, Russia had barely met Prussia’s own eye level. Toris’s entire demeanor turns submissive, if that was even possible. Gone is the relaxed methodical man.

‘Please, Toris, get one of the others to make some tea. It has been a very long, cold night,’ Russia says. His tone is very soft, Prussia thinks. So soft.

‘Oh, of course,’ Toris says, ‘I’ll just put the kettle on.’

‘I said, get one of the _others,_ ’ Russia speaks like he’s speaking to a very small child.

Toris puts the knife down, as he leaves. ‘Of course.’  

 Prussia senses this as the time to talk. He has left her in peace for two weeks. Now comes the time.

‘Please, Prussia, take a seat,’ Russia says, sitting down himself. ‘It has come to my attention that I have been a rather terrible host, leaving you alone without any company. I asked the others to include you, and I have hoped that they have done so.’

‘Unfortunately, still,’ he continues as Gilberta takes the seat opposite him, ‘I have not gotten the chance to speak to you in person, properly. How about tonight, in my study?’

‘You’ll make me come regardless of what I my answer is, Russia,’ She tells him. ‘Why bother with asking me?’

Russia’s eyes widen in surprise. ‘I asked you a question, did I not? It would be in your rights to refuse, if you so wanted, or if you were busy. I would not force you to do anything.’

‘You’re a liar. Why bring me here, then, when that was against my will?’ Gilberta asks. She refuses to acknowledge the anger inside her. It is not the time.

‘Oh, that,’ Russia actually has the gall to laugh, small. ‘That was about your _land,_ darling Prussia, _nothing_ to do with your company.’

‘Then why do you have -’ she’s barely began, but Lithuania enters with Ukraine, and Prussia falls silent.

‘We shall continue this scintillating conversation tonight, then, after dinner,’ Russia says. ‘’Good morning, sestra, how was your night?’

Ukraine smiles, small and practiced. ‘It was very well spent, brother dear. I had a dream about flowers.’

‘How lovely, that,’ Russia says, his smile has grown wider, like a small child’s. ‘Isn’t that lovely, Toris? Prussia?’

Over the sound of Lithuania’s eager agreement, Gilberta pushes the chair out and leaves for the sanctuary of her own room, for however long it is hers.

.

Alone, in the room, she closes her eyes. There is no sleep to be had, only dreams.

_‘Well, then. I’ve seen you before, girly,’ the boy says._

_He’s quite easy on the eyes, blonde hair light enough to be mistaken for Prussia’s own in the sunlight. Prussia wonders who he is, even though she can’t quite shake the fact that she’s met him before._

_‘Of course, you have. I am one of the strongest of all the German States.’ Prussia says. It’s become quite a common phrase for her to say. He looks young, in his late teens, and very, very confident. It scares her a little._

_‘Yes, yes, strong enough to lose territory to the Polish,’ he says. His words cut and sear with the added catalyst of her anger. His smile is an apple slice._

_‘That was a fluke, a onetime thing,’ Prussia finds a need to defend herself._

_But the boy merely keeps smiling and slings a hand around her shoulders. ‘Whatever you say.’_

_Prussia hadn’t liked him much; year’s later Brandenburg had told her he’d liked her the moment he’d met her._

_‘The Margraviate of Brandenburg, at your service,’ he said. He smiled a lot, Prussia noted. ‘But you, you can call me Mark Sch_ _ä_ _fer.’_

_‘The Duchy of Prussia,’ she’d replied. ‘My name’s Gilberta Beilschmidt.’_

_‘That’s a funny name for a girl,’ Brandenburg had said. She wondered what it would take to get him to stop smiling so damn much. Prussia had bristled, before he’d laughed again. His laugh was comforting._

_(Years later she’d see the same quality of laughter in a very young America, and she’d think of - )_

_‘Well, our leaders are meeting, dearest Gilberta,’ he’d told her. ‘That’s why I’m here. We’re going to be sharing a house. Won’t that be fun?’ [3]_

_‘I want you to fight me,’ she’d said. Gilberta can remember it as clear as day._

_He’d touched her hair, long back then. ‘First, we’ve got to cut that long train wreck on the top of your head.’_

_She’d pulled away, annoyed.  ‘Go fuck a whore, Brandenburg,’ she’d said, walking away._

_He’d grabbed her wrist. ‘So the little girl can curse as well as the rest of us; but there’s little point in claiming things you can’t back up.’ His face was a study in seriousness. Prussia suddenly wished for him to smile again._

_He did better. He let her hand go, and laughed as she stalked away, confused and angry and dreading and excited, and he’d called out, ‘And my name’s fucking Mark.’_

_‘Not nice to meet you, fucking Mark,’ she’d yelled back. Prussia hadn’t yelled that much in a long, long time._

_‘See you soon, Beilschmidt!’ he’d said, and Prussia had –_

The knock woke her up. It was a very annoying knock, one that pissed her off more than anything else. The quick realization that she wasn’t in her own quarters stopped her from yelling out any obscenities.

‘Yeah, so, like, it’s been a few hours, Prussia,’ that voice could only belong to one person. Poland. ‘Lunch is ready, and we all eat at the table _together_ , like a family, so it would be _really nice_ if you came to sit with us.’

She actually got the message. She supposed living with someone like Russia really did change you, especially if it had made Poland more aware of subtlety and eloquence. Those pauses and forceful stresses on words sounded practiced, like he’d done it far too often.

‘I’ll be right out,’ she calls out. ‘What’s for lunch?’

‘Some Russian dish Ukraine made,’ Poland replies. His voice gets softer as he walks away. ‘Russia loves it a lot, and it’s been some time since we’ve had any, so.’

He’s almost spelt it out. Prussia gets it; Russia is home today. It’s time to play pretend.

She doesn’t bother with her hair. If things go alright at dinner, she’ll ask Toris for kitchen shears. Those should do the trick.

As they’re seated at the dinner table, Russia at the head of it, smiling his little smile, Prussia notices they all have the same smile plastered to their faces. Hungary looks angry, but her little smile only makes her look more deranged.

‘This is lovely soup, my dearest,’ Russia says, his eyes still on his food. ‘But next time, how about you bake some of that delicious bread you used to make.’

Ukraine’s spoon clatters a little as she places it down. ‘Of course, I wanted to make it today but I wanted to save the flour for-’

‘Yes, I’m sure you meant well,’ Russia says, sweetly. ‘But surely, you could spare some for you brother and your new family, yes?’

‘Um, of-of course, brother,’ Ukraine says, her eyes are downcast, and Prussia notes that her hands are shaking. ‘I’ll make sure there’s some bread on the table next time, tonight perhaps - ’

Russia puts his spoon down. Abruptly everyone stops eating. Prussia refuses to be that whipped, and continues sipping her soup, chewing on a stray piece of meat.

‘I wanted your _fantastic_ bread with your rather _brilliant_ soup, sister dear,’ Russia says, taking her hand. Ukraine looks a bit pale. There’s an atmosphere of held breaths, the only sound is of Prussia’s less than silent swallowing, and Russia’s even breathing. ‘There is no point in having bread with the potato dish Toris will make for us, now is there?’

Ukraine isn’t speaking. Prussia wonders why they’re all so scared of Ivan. He’s completely insane, yes, but Prussia knows better than anyone that even insane people can be dealt with, and used to their advantages. After all, there was a time when Prussia was insane. Her time as an empire was one strife with murder and bloodshed. She hadn’t looked back or front, merely killed, and enjoyed it. Still, her kings had known how to deal with her. How to use her bloodlust and channel it into something much greater.

Russia is the same, Prussia thinks.

‘Next time, I’ll just remind Ukraine about the bread,’ Prussia says to the silence. Her voice sounds far too composed, she thinks. All eyes are on hers, and when Russia turns to look at her at the far corner of the table, his smile gets wider.

 _I can do this,_ she thinks. _I am Prussia, after all. I’ve beaten him once. I can do it again._

‘That is a lovely idea,’ Russia says. ‘Since you will be staying with us for the unforeseen future, how absolutely good of you to help around the house.’

There is a collective release of breath. Hungary looks relieved, even.

‘We are after all, all family now,’ Russia says, smiling. ‘Come now, eat all of you. We cannot let this delicious meal go cold.’

 _The saddest thing,_ Prussia thinks, _is that he actually seems to believe it._

_._

It is after dinner when she is standing outside Russia’s study, that her situation suddenly hits her again. She remembers unification with Brandenburg ( _what do you mean I have to marry you, you stubborn asshole loser -_ ), and she remembers what happened to him later, ( _You’re breaking my heart, Prussia, please-_ ), but she hasn’t quite understood what’s happening to her.

She feels the same, if more tired and exhausted than anything else.

 _I need to live,_ she thinks. _I need to see my brother again. I have so much I have to do. I have so much I want to do._

She knocks.

‘Come in,’ Russia’s voice calls out.

As she opens the door, and steps inside to the warm room, she wonders what will happen next. It is not often she is at the mercy of others. In fact, she can barely remember the last time she was. But she is a proud nation, and she will not beg. If he will throw her in a cell, or beat her till she’s blue – Prussia will remember her days of pride, and she will live through-

‘Please, come, sit near the fire. It seems that General Winter is still unhappy with me,’ Russia says, motioning towards the seats near the fireplace. His desk is huge, just like him; strong and sturdy, and covered in scars. ‘I only need to finish on some paperwork for Albania’s new name, and then I shall join you.’

‘I’ll pray for him to grant you peace,’ Prussia says, teasing. She wonders if she means it. ‘Ah. Are you going with a _democratic_ name, or is _Republic_ the new trend? Perhaps _both_?’

So maybe she’s a little bitter about her shitty new name. _Prussia_ was, after all -

‘Republic. It will poll better with the masses, I’m sure,’ Russia says. ‘And don’t waste your breath on the praying. I wouldn’t get my hopes up. People have prayed and prayed. Nothing happens.’

‘Why do you think that is?’ Prussia asks. She wonders why she and someone who mutually dislikes her are having such a deep conversation at night. ‘You don’t pray, right? So what do you believe in?’

‘I will tell you someday else,’ Russia says, ripping a page out. He folds it, and puts it in a black diary that he then places into a drawer. As he locks it away, Prussia moves towards the heat, settles down in a plush chair. Something from the time of the Tzars, she thinks. ‘But, mostly, people have prayed for the cold to stop. It never does. So either, they assume it’s because God doesn’t care, or He can’t do anything about it.’

‘What if it is a test?’ Prussia asks. She’s always been strong on the whole praying thing, and even that’s an understatement. ‘What if these struggles are merely tests?’

‘Then God is a crueler scientist than any of us,’ Russia says. ‘But like I said, my thoughts are for another day. Tonight, is for you, Prussia.’

She wonders what the hell that even means. She wonders why she isn’t dead already. She wonders if this is Russia’s own particular brand of torture.

‘How have you been settling in?’ Russia asks as he walks over to the chair near her. Again, she marvels at his size. ‘I hope the family has helped make you feel a part of something big, yes?’

‘They seem nice, truth be told,’ Prussia says. ‘A bit stiff, though, and not in the good way.’

Russia laughs. It’s a nice laugh, if she’s being honest. ‘Ah, yes, that. I’m sure they will learn.’

‘Latvia wet himself today, at dinner, because you smiled at him,’ Prussia says. She knows she’s pushing it, far too much. But Russia has always been one to bring out the most in her – the bad and the good. Bad mostly, if she’ll be honest.

‘Ah, yes, I do not understand why my affections are so horribly misplaced,’ Russia answers, almost wry. ‘They all have their little problems, I suppose, but I still like them all.’

‘Do you think you have problems that the others don’t like?’ she asks. It all feels surreal.

Russia stops smiling. His eyes are almost violet, and in the light they seem like her own. ‘Everyone has problems, dear Prussia. And you can never be liked by everyone.’

He gets up, abruptly, and returns with two glasses of brandy.

‘It will warm you, drink,’ Russia says. ‘Now, enough chit chat. Is there anything you need, Prussia?’

‘Why do you still call me that?’ Prussia asks. It’s something she’s noticed, something that has confused her. He is after all, one of the people who decided upon her new name. German Democratic Republic. Russia certainly wants things to sound positive. So why is he still calling her Prussia?

Russia breathes through his nose. She hasn’t answered his question, but no one asks a prisoner what they need or want. ‘Last question, dear,’ he says, almost amicably. Almost. ‘I call you Prussia because that is who you are to me. That is who you have been for me since the beginning of us, when we first met. I am sure you remember. You did not stand out much back then. But that is who you were, and that is who you will be.’

‘’Not one else calls me that, anymore,’ Prussia says. Why is it so easy to talk to Russia, of all people?

Russia makes a _tch-ing_ sound. ‘I do not know what they think, or what they say. You asked me of my reasoning, I gave it to you. Now, answer my question.’

‘I want a haircut,’ Prussia says. ‘I, uh, need a haircut.’

It’s only after she’s said it that she realizes how stupid it sounds. She sips her brandy, faster than she should.

‘Well, then,’ Russia says. He downs his drink, and stands; heads over to his desk again. When he comes back, he has scissors in his hand.

There is the acrid taste of fear at the back of Prussia’s throat. _Here it comes_ , she thinks. Knowing him, he’ll probably jab it in her abdomen and be like, ‘Looks very Prussian, yes, see you tomorrow.’

Maybe that’s his plan. To take everything she asks for and give it to her in the worst way.

‘Stand up, it’ll be easier,’ Russia says. ‘Go on.’

Hesitating for a moment, then standing up, Prussia downs her own glass. At least he had the decency to give her some liquor before the stabbing starts. She turns, and his hands on her neck burn more from the fact that they are warm, and she expected them to be cold.

‘Now, don’t move your head, yes,’ Russia says, into the base of her neck. Prussia wants to leave, suddenly, inexplicably. She wants to go to her own room, cut her hair with her own scissors, in her own mirror. Not this. Not this, at all. ‘We wouldn’t want you to cut yourself, now would we? Now, how short do you want it?’

She has to cough to answer. Her voice never shakes, she’s come to realize this about herself. ‘Ears, preferably. Jaw line, otherwise.’

It’s a delectable torture, she’ll give him that. Every snip of a scissor makes ice climb up her veins because she never knows what he’ll cut next.

She remembers Austria, at the very end of the Seven Year’s War. She’d shown them all, Russia even, that The Prussian Empire was a force to be reckoned with. And for Roderich, she’d had his punishment decided long before she’d won. She’d kept him in a cell, and she’d made sure no light was given, no sound was presented. He’d kept waiting and waiting, and in the end, he’d screamed for her to _just fucking do it, you bitch –_

So she understands where Russia is coming from.

‘We’ll go with an in between, yes,’ Russia says. ‘That way you can come to terms with such a large change at such short notice. ’ 

Prussia cannot stop the scoff that leaves her mouth in the very instant she hears that sentence.

‘Yes, truly. Short hair is the largest change I’ve got to get used to on short notice,’ she says. There’s bitterness in her mouth, and she can’t quite blame it all on the alcohol.

‘Spoken like a true orator, my dear,’ Russia says, laughing.

Prussia feels like crying when she joins in.

‘Anything else you would like, dear Prussia?’ he asks, when he is done. There’s not mirror in his study, so Prussia wonders what she looks like. Does he even know what he’s doing?

‘Hot water, if there is any,’ she says. She wonders, why he’s doing this to her.

Russia picks up the abandoned glass on the table and moves away. ‘Ask Ukraine, or Latvia. They’ll bring you some. Or, if you want to do it yourself, there are buckets in the kitchen.’

.

The thing is, the thing that really gets to Prussia, is that Russia truly does not want to be alone. He truly does want friends, and family, and he doesn’t know how to get them. Loyalty to him is born out of fear, not love, or even logic.

At least America has that. Britain and Canada on his side because they’re some-what of a _family,_ the other countries who favor him because it’s logical – he’s a strong nation, the only one who can not only withstand Russia’s influence, but give back as good as he gets, sometimes even more.

But Russia, Russia’s family is born of hate, and contempt and desperation. No one _wants_ to be here, and like all good children, Russia cannot stand the thought of them all leaving. Cannot stand the thought that his _friends_ despise him. And that’s why he forces all of them to keep reiterating that they’re _happy_ , they’re his _family._

The sharp taste of pity overwhelms her. _It must be tiring_ , she thinks. _After all, he’s been here longer than I have._

When she carries up hot water, she makes sure it is boiling. Still, when she gets in, it’s merely this side of _warm,_ and she thinks they’ve all been underestimating the Russian cold.

Still, the warm bath calms her. She gets out when the water turns lukewarm, and dresses in stray pajamas left on her chair. She wonders who it’s from.

When she finally looks at herself in the mirror, she sees a stranger pretending to be her. Sure, she looks the same. In fact, there’s something to be given about the fact that she still is strong, personally, regardless of the state of her people.

But there’s something off about the person she sees that she can’t quite place. Something that screams at her from the inside, makes her skin crawl, makes everything look wrong. It’s _her,_ but a strange echo of the voices people have thrown at her oh-so long ago.

Prussia stares out the window; there’s barely anything to see in the cold landscape. Merely snow and snow, and guess what: more fucking _snow._

She’s suddenly filled with a desperate _want_ to go back home, to Ludwig. See how he’s doing. She wants to spend some time with Francis and Antonio, and laugh again. She wants to feel like herself, in her uniform, and her cropped hair, and she wants to argue with Hungary and Austria at their place and she _wants_ –

She thinks, later, much later, _years_ later, when she’s lying in bed, still cold but somehow alright, that if she’d seen Russia in front of her in that moment, she’d have killed him. More out of sheer anger from the heartbreak his taking had caused her, then of any real need to have her country back.

.

_‘So, we’re getting married,’ Mark says when they meet again._

_Prussia’s been practicing fighting again, but never when he can see her. Today, she is in her church, praying. She has always found peace when praying to God, regardless of any problems she may have._

_She groans when he comes in. ‘You’re here again?’_

_He has gotten older. But then again, so has she. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ He asks. ‘We’re getting married. That means, you and I, legally, get to fuck.’_

_It sounds so vulgar. She can actually remember a time when she used that word far too often. It brings back memories. Before that ugly Polish asshole completely –_

_‘We’re in my church,’ she tells him. Her voice is quiet compared to his. His voice calls attention, and he reminds her of – ‘Don’t say those things in my **church,** for God’s sake.’_

_‘Using the Lord’s name in vain,’ Mark says, unperturbed. ‘Strike two.’_

_He smiles. Prussia hates his smile. It makes her want to smile right back, and it is shocking to realize that she is actually smiling back, has been ever since he fucking got here and abruptly, she tries to hide it –_

_‘Oh, come on,’ Mark says. He joins her on the floor, gets down on his knees, and joins his hands together in prayer. ‘I know you’re happy to see me.’_

_‘You wish,’ Prussia tells him. ‘This marriage was not my idea, at all, and I will not pretend to be happy about something I didn’t even want or need in the first place - ’_

_‘We share so many commonalities. We share the same language, we share borders, we share the same food, the same culture,’ he says. He’s suddenly serious again. She doesn’t like it when he smiles, but she hates it even more when he doesn’t. ‘We share so many things. What God meant to be, let no man tear asunder.’_

_She almost laughs. ‘Where did that even come from?’_

_‘Shhh,’ he says, smiling again. Prussia is hit with the unjustifiable urge to mess up his already messy hair. ‘Let us pray for our impending marriage.’_

_She can’t quite help the scoff, but it’s abruptly stuck in her throat when his lips graze the cusp of her ear to whisper: ‘And then we’ll go out, and I’ll train with you.’_

_The promise is enough to make her more silent than she usually is._

_She loses the first few times. Mark is strong, she will give him that. And he’s very skilled in fighting. If there is one thing Prussia has always been able to appreciate, it’s the passion for fighting._

_‘You going to ever try hitting back, or are you just going to stay on the defensive?’ Mark asks, he’s barely tired.  ‘Come on, if this is what you’re going to do all along, I’m going to be very disappointed.’_

_Prussia allows the first few blows to strike, and when he doesn’t expect it, she hits back, twice as hard. It cuts him in the wrist of his left hand (Prussia still remembers this, because later, later, later, she’d take the same wrist and hold it down on starched cotton sheets and -) and he’s shocked. It’s barely a nick, and it’ll heal, but it’s the first wound she’s ever given him (And they’ll both treasure it, she can see it in his eyes -)_

_‘Well then,’ Mark says, ‘I’m going to stop being easy on you.’_

_She is bruised and battered when Mark finally leaves, (he tries to kiss her and Prussia pushes him away, unfortunately unable to hide the laughter that comes with it), and yet, she’s never felt this happy in decades. When her leaders tell her they have a date, and tell her to be there, her nod of submission is anything but that._

_The first night they are joined, Prussia drinks like a soldier coming back from war and only has twenty four hours before his duty calls him back. (1806, she thinks, Brandenburg-Prussia, no longer a vassal, I cannot fucking believe this -) she doesn’t want to feel a thing. She’s done this before, of course, everyone has, but she’s never enjoyed it, and she hates to think such a horrible girly thought, but she (likes him, because he makes her laugh and fights her and doesn’t pull his punches, and he’s pretty, and she doesn’t want to ruin that with some tawdry fuck because it’s great the way it is -). Sex can never beat the battle. Prussia knows this, deep in her bones. She has seen the need of lust, and she has seen the lust for battle, the thrum of blood in her veins as she slays man after man – and that thrill can never be compensated; the satisfaction of the silence can never be overcome by a simple joining of two bodies, never –_

_‘What are you thinking of, Beilschmidt?’ Mark is sitting beside her again. ‘And why the last-day on the planet drinking?’_

_Prussia is sufficiently drunk enough to answer in the most honest way possible. ‘I’m thinking about us fucking.’_

_The blunt way she has said it has actually shocked him. She thinks. Maybe._

_‘Truly, my prowess in bed is not bad enough for you to want to be unconscious when it’s time,’ Mark tells her. He places a hand on her shoulder. They’re both in their uniforms. ‘Gilberta-’_

_It’s the first time he’s used her name, and she knows the soft tone he’s going to take with her, because she’s had men do it before. ‘Nobody’s prowess in bed is good enough to make me forget the thrill of battle.’_

_He is silent, for a few minutes. His glass is still quarter full, and he doesn’t seem intent on drinking it, so Prussia downs it. After all, they’re fucking married. She can have his goddamn quarter cup of wine._

_‘Why do you compare it to the thrill of battle?’ He asks her. He glances at his cup with something akin to heartbreak, before he calls a maid to get more for both._

_It’s also the fact that it’s a medium of humiliation. Every defeat has been awful, but what has made it worse is her gender. There is little more than a hole that men want from women, and it is enough to be humiliated on the battlefield, standing around your own dead soldiers, and another humiliation at being used and discarded. If she was a man, of course, the same treatment would be at hand; but after careful deliberation, the askance of whether it was called for or not, whether the victim deserved it or not._

_But there’s something about female captives that simply calls for the torture of rape. Prussia has seen this with soldiers – if men are captured, they are beaten and thrown into jail cells. With women, they’re raped. There is no other option apart from fucking them. There is not a single defeat Prussia has suffered where she hasn’t gotten the very same treatment._

_‘Nothing compares to that,’ he says. It takes her a second to come back to herself. She has never been afraid, and tonight she feels even stronger._

_Prussia looks at him for a minute. He doesn’t seem to be lying. His eyes are the brightest shade of blue she’s ever seen, and she wonders why she’s never told him how much she likes him. ‘Let’s go.’_

_‘Now?’ he asks. ‘Now, now?’_

_‘Now, now,’ she answers. She’s drunk enough to find that thing funny. Turns out, so is he._

_They hold on to each other as they enter his rooms. She unbuckles her belt and un-tucks her shirt. She wonders why, after all these decades remaining silent and untouchable; she’s suddenly feeling quite so confident. His eyes follow her hands, and he stands there until she says, ‘Aren’t you going to join the party?’_

_They undress in silence. When they’re done, she stares at him. He stares at her._

_‘Look, we don’t -’_

_‘Are you going to fucking fuck me, or what?’ She cuts him off._

_He smiles. ‘Alright , then.’_

_They’re both far too drunk to be coordinated, but as she’s under him, Prussia is thinking again. There is a faint thrum of power under her skin that she hasn’t felt in centuries. It makes her go wild, makes her want to take her pleasure, with no care._

_Abruptly, she turns them around, so that she’s on top. He is hard inside her, almost to the point of being painful, but the look on his face is lost, like he cannot see what else exists beyond her. It’s a good look on him, and she almost tells him._

_He’s confused now, she can tell, but she grabs his wrists before he can do anything else._

_‘That’s just not working for me,’ she says. She wonders if he can feel it too._

_His wrist has healed, but Prussia remembers it as clear as day. ‘So, then,’ he starts. His hair is messy again. She realizes she’s wanted to run his hands through since the day she met him, and she realizes that nothing is stopping her now._

_She kisses the smile out of his mouth, licks it away and until he can’t stop moving into her. It’s the power that gets to her, and it’s nothing like out in the field, but she’s with_ him, _and it’s suddenly just as good. It builds up, the thrum of power, until her nails are cutting into the skin of his wrists and she’s biting his lips until he makes these low sounds at the back of his throat, like it hurts, but it hurts so_ good, _and when she pulls away –_

_‘So, are you going to take what you want?’ he asks. He looks so debauched, Prussia is astounded to know she’s done this to a man who just a little while ago, was trying to comfort her on the merits of sex._

_Prussia smirks. ‘Just watch me.’_

_._

Waking up feels like cold morning water splashed on her face. She remembers it as clear as day. The house of Hohenzollern had taken power, and she’d felt the starting vestiges of _indestructible_ in the lining of her sinews.

Brandenburg, though. ( _Mark -_ )

She doesn’t like thinking about him far too long. He is a relic of the past. Meant to be forgotten.

_(Is this how he felt?)_

No. She will not think of it. At all.

Things are completely fine. Prussia is fine. This is not the time to be thinking about him, or her empire, or anything. Now is the time to wait. (She fucking hates waiting.)

.

She doesn’t bother going to sleep again for the next few days. She cannot risk the ending – ( _again_ )

She cannot sleep, not with _that_ being the only thing she can see. Prussia goes downstairs. It’s been weeks since her little chat with Russia, and she wonders why nothing else has happened. She doesn’t have a coat with her, and so shivering is a given. 

The house is silent, and so is she, but the warmth of Russia’s study is overpowering. Is he still awake?

She’s always been one to push buttons, and quite frankly she is tired of what he is doing. She’s tired of it all. If he wants to punish her, why won’t he just do it? If he wants to humiliate her, why won’t he just do it? What is wrong with him, and his forced civility? The disgust overwhelms her into knocking.

Maybe he will hit her, but at least then there would be something to do. This overpowering monotony is what will kill her, because there is no torture on Earth that can finish her off.

‘Who is it?’ Russia’s voice calls out. It always confuses her how _soft_ he sounds. The same man who only three days ago, made Latvia scream out apologies for breaking a glass.

‘Prussia,’ she says. ‘Are you going to let me in, asshole? It’s freezing outside.’

It takes enough time for the door to open for her to wonder if he’s ignoring her.

‘Come in,’ he says. ‘Why aren’t you wearing a coat? And why are you not in bed?’

He’s not wearing a coat either. It’s unsettling, but everything about her current situation is unsettling.

‘Could ask you the same questions,’ she says. She takes her seat near the fire. The bottle of brandy is on table, with only one glass. It’s obvious he wasn’t working. ‘You can’t sleep?’

‘We do not _want_ to sleep,’ he corrects. _He’s right_ , she thinks. _I would sleep, if Mark wasn’t in everything. I don’t want to see anything._ ‘What do you see when you close your eyes?’

For a minute, she almost tells him everything. It’s the late night time, and the warmth of the fire, and the bone deep loneliness she feels emanating from the other man. ‘Old friends,’ she says, instead. ‘What do you see?’

He smiles, amused. He can tell she’s lying, but he’s alright with it, because he’s going to do the same. It’s a nice smile, nothing like his usual fixed ones. ‘Old friends,’ he answers. Prussia’s lips tug upwards at the corners out of their own volition. ‘I suppose that’s what we can call it.’

He pours her a glass, and she drinks it down, burning. It feels awful. It feels like her. It’s enough to make her feel angry again.

‘When are you going to do it?’ she asks. ‘When does the torture start?’

He looks surprised. It is as if he hasn’t even noticed how cruel he can be. _He really is as simple as a child sometimes,_ Prussia thinks. _Fast in anger, and fast in forgiving after he’s doled out the punishment he thinks one deserves._    

‘Why would I torture you?’ He says, sipping his own. ‘Savor the alcohol, Prussia. It’s a rarity to have liquor older than the war.’ _Thanks to your brother,_ is more implied than anything.

‘Let’s see,’ Prussia says. Her honesty and her lack of tact will kill her someday. ‘You’ve taken my land, I’m under your control, and you’re a cruel asshole who forces people to stay when they don’t want to. It’s only time before you’ll start to punish me in the way you think I deserve.’

‘You have done nothing to deserve any punishment I could give,’ Russia says. There is a cold glint in his eye, like somewhere deep down there is a chasm of similar statements people have said to him that he has locked away. ‘And I have told you before, _you_ are simply an idea. The people’s actions do not influence your feelings. Your people’s actions do not implement your actions to me. You have done nothing to me since stepping into this house that could be constituted as rude. I have asked you to be polite, and behave like a family member. You have. I would not do anything to _you_ , _the personification,_ merely because your people are thinking of rebelling.’

‘Then why are the others so scared of you?’ Prussia asks. _Today is not her day to di_ e, she thinks, _I will not die in this hellhole while my brother is alive._ ‘There must be something you’ve done that’s got them shaking in fear, that makes Latvia piss his pants whenever you pass by.’

Russia nods. ‘I said I only punish the ones who act on their own basis. I have had to make examples of some, so that the others may follow. Whatever they were punished for, was not because of their people. It was because of their own actions,’ he says. He refills her glass, albeit lesser than before. ‘And I think you of all people, Prussia, can understand the extent of exaggeration for the rumors for one on a seat of power.’

 And the funny thing is, Prussia does understand, because she’s been on a seat of power, and she knows how one little ripple of a show of power can cause a storm in a sea. ( _Mark, mark_ , _mark_ )

But here’s another things she knows, and understands, also because she’s been on a seat of power: The rumor always starts from the shadow of truth.

She smirks, sips her brandy, slowly this time. Russia approves, he leans back in his chair and sips his own.

His message is clear: _follow me, and I will give you Eden. Refuse me, and I shall let you burn._

So is hers: _I beat you once. I will do it again._

‘Call me Ivan, _’_ he tells her, placing a hand on hers where it’s resting. ‘After all, you are family now.’

Prussia nods; her smile is all teeth, but with a new understanding. ‘And you can call me Gilberta.’

.

When she goes back to bed, it is only a few hours before dawn. She’s confused. Russia, no, _Ivan_ has made startling revelations today. The conversation has made her heady; and her eyes close when she lies down.

Tonight, she knows, she will not dream of Brandenburg.

Her dreams are filled with another man; the only man she has ever loved.

_‘Hello, fritz,’ she tells him. Gilberta remembers this day as clearly as any._

_‘Hello, darling,’ Friedrich said. He was handsome, and Gilberta had loved him since the day she met him._

_I never believed someone like me_ could _love, until I met_ you, _she thinks. You made everything alright; you gave me respect, and power and dignity; you raised me so, so high, until the world was at my feet, you –_

_‘I have something for you,’ the king says. They’re in his chambers; Gilberta jokes sometimes that maybe seeing a woman in his chambers might actually quell down the whispered truth everywhere._

_(‘Maybe if you looked like a woman, Gilberta, perhaps. But ever since I’ve let you cut your hair, my, my. You’re adding fuel to the flames, instead.’)_

_‘You know my rather, biased opinion on women apart from you, Gilberta,’ he says. His smile is in the wrinkles around his eyes, and Gilberta cannot sleep at night when she thinks of his age. ‘But, it was time I got you something. It is after all, your birthday.’_

_Her eyes narrow, no ruler has ever been such a good friend of hers. She has raised him, been beside him every step of the way, she knows him like no other does and the funniest part is, he knows her just as well –_

_It’s a sword. But it’s not just any sword, it’s brand new, the reflected light so bright off its edge it takes her breath away._

_‘Go on, there’s more to it,’ he says. He looks happy, because she’s happy. No person or country has ever been happy merely because Gilberta is happy. ( apart from - )_

_She picks up the sword, weighs it in one hand. It’s sharp and strong, and brutally straightforward, just like her. The handle is beautiful, carved silver and –_

_There’s a small inscription near the corner of it. ‘_ To the only woman I’ve loved’ – Yours, Fritz.

_For a very, very scary moment, Gilberta thinks she might actually just cry. Not out of any sentimentality, only. She’ll miss him. She’ll miss him so very much. He’s going to die, he’s going to die and she’ll be all alone and then –_

_‘I.’ Gilberta says. She sheathes the sword, and turns towards him, wordless. There are no words for her and him, there’s never been a need for words between them. She always thought he knew, always thought they didn’t need to say it, but here is it, a solid physical confession that she’s secretly wanted to hear for years on end._

_‘Are you actually speechless?’ Friedrich asks. There’s something akin to adoration in his eyes. ‘There’s something I never thought I’d be alive long enough to speak.’_

_Prussia turns, walks until there’s only a small space separating them._

_For the first time in her life, Gilberta willingly gets down on her knees. She takes his hands into her own; it seems like only days ago when his were just as smooth as hers. She suddenly has so many things to say, far too many things to say. She wants to tell him that she’s never loved anyone the way she loves him, that she never will. That he’s the first person to see her like this, vulnerable and open and she’s alright with it, because it’s_ him.

_But surprisingly, the only words that come out of her mouth are, ‘To you I belong to, and you I serve.’_

_He takes her hands and kisses the knuckles, rough from constant fighting, and pulls her up. She’s always been tall, and so she reaches his height easily. In fact, if she wears her boots, she’s taller than he is. But right now, barefoot and in his arms, they are equals._

_‘A nation does not belong to its king, my dear,’ Friedrich says. She wonders when he became so wise; he used to be a complete nuisance; running away, yelling all the time, asking all sorts of questions that nobody had the time or the knowledge to answer. Apart from her, on most occasions.  ‘A king belongs to his nation. It is you who I belong to. I was born on your soil, and to you I will return.’_

_The kingdom of Prussia looks down, eyes burning. She has never felt this way before; not even when she –_ NO.

 _‘I don’t want_ _you to die,’ she says. She looks up and their eyes connect, and God, she wants this moment to last till the end. ‘I don’t want you to die. Because if you die, then, then I’m alone.’_

_Her voice cracks pitifully by the end of it, but Friedrich does the same thing she did when he was a child and his father’s temper soared a little too high. He puts his arms around her, and brings his forehead to rest on hers. ‘A long time ago you asked me if I believed in heaven or hell, or divine reward and punishment,’ he says. He’s so close; she can feel his breath on her mouth. ‘I don’t. I believe, simply, that there is another world waiting for us. A better world. And I’ll be waiting for you there.’_

_He presses his mouth to her, a simple kiss._

_‘No matter how long it takes?’ Prussia asks. She’s not even sure if nations have souls, if they can live or die, or go to heaven. But she knows she wants this better world he speaks of. She wants it more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life._

_‘Well, I’ll definitely need to spend some time away from you. I’ve been dealing with you for almost a lifetime,’ Fritz has his hands touching her back, and his fingers are curling into the sides of her tunic. It’s almost funny, and she gives a small, inexplicable smile._

_‘I’ve been dealing with you since you were in your nappies, old King,’ Prussia retorts, grin stretching wider, the reaction is immediate; Friedrich face is dusted with red and he makes a sound of annoyance, almost pulling away. Prussia has to grab him by the neck, her fingers joined together over the nape of his neck._

_‘Not exactly the way you get a man into the mood,_ Gillian _,’ Friedrich says. He’s called her that whenever she’s been particularly annoying, and the only reason she hasn’t stopped him is because he’s never done it in front of anyone else._

 _‘Oh, you’d know, wouldn’t you,_ little _Fritz?’ She tosses back, laughing. He sees that and the small frown on his face disappears completely, and he’s smiling again. She realizes he’s done this all to take her mind off sadder things._

_Gilberta leans in, and kisses him, and the sounds he makes –_

_._

In the morning, she makes sure her hair is neat and her uniform in place. She’s always felt more comfortable in uniform. It’s when she’s having breakfast, however, that Russia surprises her, and everyone else, for that matter.

‘We will be going to your house today, Gilberta,’ he says, standing in the doorway. There is a sound of a cup clacking repeatedly as it is set down on the plate. ‘It has been long enough, and the Soviet Government agrees that the German Democratic Republic is meant to be controlled, later, by its own people.’

Her house. She hasn’t been there since, so, so long. During the war, she was with West, or in some godforsaken hellhole wondering, _why_ exactly she was fighting for something she didn’t even really believe in while knowing the answer all along. There are so many things there, things she wants, things she should destroy.

‘Tell me whenever we’re leaving,’ she tells him casually, egg in her mouth. She can tell the others aren’t very comfortable with her repertoire with Russia, but what can she say. She’s never been one to shiver in her boots.

‘When you’re done with breakfast, I’ll send the soldiers to get you,’ Russia says. ‘You’re going to be a government official, so you need the protection, yes?’

Prussia has just settled into her armchair when two loud knocks follow on the door. ‘Ma’am, it’s time to go.’

She stands up and walks over. When she opens the door, she sees two soldiers. One of them is a blonde; one of the first things that hits her is that he reminds her so, so much of Mark. He has so much of his features. His hair is cropped short from the sides and the back, military grade. But the front has been allowed to grow, and doesn’t really look styled at all. He’s in military uniform; and Prussia’s got to give Ivan this, he certainly knows how to handle the military.

The other soldier, is a brunette. His hair is completely short, in a buzz cut. It reminds Prussia of days of war when it just got too tiring to handle what little hair she had, and she’d shear it off completely. It wasn’t until she’d come to visit Ludwig after fighting Austria, still maintaining the rabid, no-hair _I will kill you_ vibe, and Ludwig had actually _screamed_ when he’d seen her. She almost smiled at the memory, before it hit her that she was going back to her own house.

‘Piotr Vasiliev,’ the blonde says. He tries to smile, realizes what’s he’s doing and where he is, and abruptly stops. Prussia almost smiles at it.

The other one has no reservations. He grins, crooked, and so big Prussia can almost count his teeth. ‘Aleksyander Sokolov, it’s a pleasure,’ he says, in German, which is what shocks her into smiling wider.

‘We’re your guard duty, so, if anyone tries to hurt you - ’ Piotr says, but Prussia interrupts.

‘I’ll deal with them. You just watch my back,’ she says. She has little doubts whom their loyalty lie with right now. But Prussia has made boys into men and men into kings. She knows how to earn loyalty.

‘Let us go, then. Ivan said he had a phone call to make and then he’ll come,’ Aleksyander says, already waking down the staircase.

The car ride is silent. She sits with Ivan in the front, in the passenger seat. She occasionally makes eye contact with both Piotr and Aleksyander from the mirror. 

She’s seeing her house after years. The nostalgia is overwhelming; Ivan accompanies her inside and both soldiers stay outside.

She rubs a hand through the dust on one of the pictures. It’s one of _those,_ the ones with the goddamned swastika on every uniform; only in this one she and Germany are both smiling, laughing even. Prussia for some reason, cannot even remember how to smile like that.

‘We’ll have to destroy these, you know that,’ Ivan says. He hasn’t moved from the doorway since he came in. Prussia is oddly grateful. It all feels surreal; it seems as if only a few days ago she was living here, sitting in that leather chair she’s owned since –

‘I know,’ she says. She allows the frame to slip through her hands and fall. The glass cracks. There is silence. ‘You can check them for any evidence, if you want.’

Ivan nods. ‘We’ll go through them before, obviously. Now, get some clothes and your office supplies. You’ll be working with me until your house is cleaned up.’

‘I’ll be living here?’ Prussia cannot quite stop her surprise. ‘You’ll let me stay here after I’m done with work?’

Ivan looks surprised, as if she’s a child who’s been living in a fantasy. ‘Of course. This is, after all, your house. The only reason you’ve been staying at mine is because I needed to keep an eye on you, initially, and because your home is a compete _wreck._ ’

‘Aren’t you scared I’ll stage a rebellion, or something?’ Prussia says. There’s something dark and acidic under her skin. ‘Or do think I’m that weak now?’

‘Neither. You’re not weak; I think the other nations know your strength better than you yourself do,’ Ivan answers; if she is acidic, he is water; she feels diluted when he speaks, run down. ‘But I also know that you won’t stage a rebellion until you’re sure of victory. You’ve always been bloodthirsty, dear Prussia, but you’ve never been stupid.’

She suddenly feels weak, and so, so _tired._ Russia walks over, his heavy boot crush the glass frame into dust. He picks up another picture, blows the dust away and hurls it against the opposite wall _. It would hurt_ , Prussia thinks _, if I had the strength to feel anything._

‘Apart from that little brother of yours,’ Ivan says. ‘He was the worst decision you ever made. You raised your own downfall. I think you know that, too.’

The worst part is that Prussia does _know._ She stays silent as Ivan starts the walk upstairs, and slowly starts to follow. Suddenly, she wants to leave. She doesn’t want to be here, in this broken, run down house that has seen much better days; doesn’t want to work with Ivan and then come to sleep in a house haunted by more memories than those actually including it.

Instead, she finds a bag and shoves some old clothes in, a few tailored coats and pants, shirts and dresses.

She’s going to take more, except Ivan says, ‘We can get you the new styles later, just keep the ones that are good enough to wear.’

She can’t help but stop for a minute. One of Germany’s shirts is hanging in her wardrobe, and Prussia realizes she’s fallen on her knees and is frozen, only when she feels a pair of arms go around her.

‘How _could_ he?’ Prussia says, she can’t breathe. ‘How could _you_?’

She can’t say more. Her heart is breaking, and the pain is beyond any she’s felt before. _How could he?_ Prussia wants to yell. _How could he do this to me? How could he just_ stand there _and blame it on me? Why? I taught him how to stand up for himself, why didn’t he stand up for me?_ Her throat is seizing. _How could you? You saw me weak and vulnerable, and you said, ‘Can I have her land?’ you fucking cunt how fucking could you both -_

‘Shh, Gilberta,’ Ivan says. It’s the first time he’s used her name. He kisses her forehead, a gesture so sincerely sweet it almost makes her slap him in return. ‘Now is not the time to weep.’

She agrees. For her, it’s never the time to weep. Most days, her pride won’t let her. Other days, there’s no time. But right now, she feels humiliated, and there is too much time to think. It’s just that this house, and these memories and these god-awful feelings have gripped her from the inside and just won’t let go.  ‘Come now,’ he says, ‘The cleaners will throw away the unneeded things.’

She pushes him away, and he readily steps away. He amiably helps her up, Prussia doesn’t bother resisting.  

She collects the clothing and places it in her bag. Russia is moving towards the doorway, and Prussia says, ‘Ivan. Can I ask you for something?’

‘Of course, Gilberta,’ Ivan says. She thinks he might actually just mean it. ‘If it is in my jurisdiction to do so, then I will do my best.’

‘There’s a room. Downstairs. It’s my study,’ Prussia says. ‘It has all my books and… journals.’

Ivan smiles. ‘They won’t touch it. I give you my word.’

Prussia has never felt so grateful to a ruler in centuries, and it itches under her skin like a festering wound she can’t quite ignore.

.

A week later, she’s settled into Ivan’s study, with her own desk in the corner.

‘See? I still don’t trust you, so I make you work with me,’ Ivan says, one day, not even looking up from his writing.

Prussia is horrified to feel herself smiling, and immediately schools her face. His answering lip curl tells her she wasn’t quite fast enough. ‘Fuck off,’ she says.

‘I was wondering where that tongue was hiding,’ Ivan says. ‘You almost had me worried.’

Prussia ignores him, and works. The comfortable feel of the situation makes her feel guilty; she’s spent years being a captive, a prisoner of war; even once or twice to that God-awful Austrian bastard – and none of them spent time writing reports in the same room, making small talk. It’s almost easy, with Ivan, and it disgusts her to accept it.

She goes home to her house the following week. It’s just as empty, except now there’s no Germany there. No soldiers to drink with. The cleaners have done fantastic; the clean freak inside her is ecstatic.

She settles into bed and wonders how things became this way. The bitterness, the anger, the betrayal. Everywhere she looks, there are memories. She’s immortalized them, after all, all those diaries in her study.

She misses Ludwig, mostly, she realizes. She won’t admit it in daylight, but in those dark, dull moments in bed when there’s only you and your pillow, she admits to missing him. _If he’d apologize_ , she thinks, _I’d forgive him. I’d forgive him in a heartbeat._

.

_Sweden is man of few words, and sitting with him and Mark, has Prussia feeling as if she’s sitting with just Mark, because he’s the only one speaking. Sweden occasionally grunts, maybe to let them know that he’s still alive._

_Not for very long, though, Prussia feels. She can tell it’s the thought of every soldier, be it Swedish or Prussian or Brandenburgian. Their joint army is nothing against the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The thought of Poland makes Prussia’s blood curdle; nothing will make her forget her treatment at his hands._

_Whatever happens, she thinks, whatever happens, I will see him beaten._

_‘Eighteen thousand on our side,’ Mark is saying. ‘Forty thousand on their side. Help us Lord.’_

_Prussia recites one of her old prayers in her heart._ Give me victory if that is Your Will.

_The battle begins, and the first two days are spent moving armies to the better vantage point._

_On the third day, Prussia-decides she’s had enough, and marches her standing army (And God, isn’t she thankful to Friedrich William for those damned reforms now) straight onto the field, and looks head on at Poland. He looks back, Lithuania at his side. For a minute, Prussia feels her heart beat in clear silence, all alone, before Brandenburg’s armies join in, flanked by Swedish troops._

_The message is clear. ‘To death,’ Prussia yells, and kicks her horse into running._

_She is sure it will end in blood, so sure, which is why she’s even more surprised when the Polish forces turn to retreat. But Prussia is out for blood. She isn’t sure why she’s killing, only that she is. It isn’t until any remaining Polish soldiers haven’t been slain that she deigns to look around._

_Sweden, that stoic, actually almost looks surprised himself. He has a cut near his temple, sluggishly bleeding._

_Mark, on the other hand, only smiles. His hair is ruffled and his eyes have the same life Prussia feels coursing through her. She can see all his teeth, she realizes, that’s how wide he’s smiling._

_Nineteen years later, it’s Sweden on the other side. Friedrich’s anger could burn down countries, when he learns of Sweden’s occupation of most of his principality._

_‘We march. Now,’ he says. The soldiers are in shock._

_‘My lord,’ Derfflinger starts, ‘It will take almost a week to prepare the carts and wagons and -’_

_‘Leave the wagons,’ Friedrich says. ‘We march for blood.’_

_The soldiers have to buy food from the locals, and even then, Friedrich refuses to stop for a while. He’s made it very clear for no pillaging and no stealing. He is a man on a mission, and Prussia can tell why. Brandenburg looks decidedly weak, pale and tired. The attack has obviously hurt him more than he’s claiming._

_Two week’s time passes, and they enter their principality again._

_Prussia wonders why Friedrich won’t let another man lead, has wondered time and time again when she’s seen the sixty nine years old Derfflinger walk past; but when he tricks the Swedish into opening the door and charges, Prussia beside him, she suddenly understands the mettle of this soldier is one that even age cannot conquer._

_‘We’re at fehrbellin, the Swedish Army is stuck, but their engineers are making quick work on the Rhin bridge,’ Derflinger reports to the king. ‘We need to strike and now.’_

_Friedrich looks at Prussia before he looks at Brandenburg. It’s the first time he has ever done so. ‘You will lead your men, our men. And you will win this war. Do you understand?’_

_Prussia stands. ‘Yes, I understand. With your permission, my Duke, I suggest placing the little guns we have on the low hill areas to the left Army flank.’_

_‘Thirteen cannons,’ Derfflinger adds, not so helpfully this time._

_‘I give you permission,’ Friedrich says. ‘Destroy them.’_

_Prussia’s fury knows no bounds. Mark is behind her, fighting from the sides, but today is Gilberta’s day in battle and she feels immortal. She fights through, barely wasting her time to ensure death before moving forward. She wants Sweden himself, and when she meets his eyes, his widen imperceptibly. Prussia attacks, and suddenly, it doesn’t matter what is going on around her. She doesn’t care who lives or dies, doesn’t care if she lives or dies, Mark and Friedrich do not exist, suddenly – the only thing that exists is the sword in her hand that moves as if it is another limb._

_After it is over, she stands alone. She can’t quite let go of her sword. She thinks she never will; she is filled with the determination and clear-headedness of someone who has just discovered their purpose in life after spending years and years in gut-wrenching confusion of the monotonous every day spent wondering why they’re here, what they’re doing._

_Words stick –_ the left flank was crushed, but the right escaped they held out long enough to fix the bridge but thankfully our territory is ours again so it’s not a loss the locals are still hungry for blood over the thirty year’s war, they’ll handle the rest it is time to rest mark you must rest you’re hurt somebody get Prussia she hasn’t moved –

_She doesn’t look back._

_That night, when she lies in bed with Mark beside her, she can’t quite sleep. She doesn’t think she’ll ever sleep in peace; she knows thrill the likes she has never felt before. Nothing else matters._

_No more Duchy,_ Gilberta thinks. Knows. _I’ll be a kingdom. An empire._

_Mark leans over, kisses her neck. She can’t quite help but smile._

_‘Thank you,’ he says, uncharacteristically serious. Prussia places her hands in his hair. It’s almost as short as hers, cropped to their crowns. ‘Thank you, Gilberta.’_

_Prussia kisses him, soft; softer than they’ve ever been with each other._

_‘Thank you,’ she says. She doesn’t think she’s ever meant anything more. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’_

_Mark presses his face into the crook of her neck. She doesn’t quite understand the burning in her eyes, the way she has to keep swallowing for some reason._

_‘Everything’s going to be different, now,’ Mark says, muffled._

_And maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the aura of change that has her so scared, making her heart burn with every beat. Maybe that’s it. There’s no reason to be afraid, no reason –_

_‘Yes, it will,‘ Prussia says. No doubt she means it._

_._

‘You’ll be coming with me to the meeting, yes?’ Russia asks her.

She’s spent the better part of the year working with him, and that’s what shocks her, that she actually works with him, not under him. She knows he holds great respect for the quality of her work and she also knows that the only reason he does not allow her to simply work in her own house is because his government still believes in watching over her. Ivan does not order her around, does not yell.

‘Why bother? It’s not like I have a choice in the matter,’ Prussia says. ‘And there’s no point. They’ll set up a new democratic state, I’ll represent it. Right?’

‘Your brother is coming,’ Russia says. ‘I’m sure you’d like to meet him? I’ve been told he’s been yearning to see you.’

Hope blooms just as much as anger in her veins. ‘Has he?’

‘Well, I had to put a little pressure, but, yes,’ Russia says. ‘In the end, the allies thought it was beneficial as well.’

‘You did that for me?’ Prussia asks. She hates herself for asking, but this man answers her honestly, which is what she likes about him most.

‘We are friends, Prussia,’ Ivan says. She hates and loves that he is the only one who still calls her that, and that too with full belief. She can’t quite understand how this cruel creature, this ignorant, selfish man is the one who – ‘Of course, I would. Now, I had something special made for the day, it’s nothing much. But it’s certainly different from your old wardrobe.’

‘I thought the ones I got tailored six months ago were fine,’ Prussia says. She almost smiles at him, indulging.

‘They are fine,’ Russia says, ‘Good in fact. But it has been almost two years since the world has seen you; I’d certainly like you to look different. Even your hair is longer.’

Her hair isn’t quite that long, barely curling by her neck, but she gets his point. More so she gets his order, as beautifully phrased as a request that it is. She’ll wear it.

When she’s placing her paperwork into her suitcase, he says, ‘It’s been some time since we’ve had a drink together, has it not?’

And that’s true, too. The last time they had one was before she moved to her own house, months ago. ‘Would you like to have one now?’

Ivan stands. It still shocks her, how big he can seem when he wants to. When you’re not expecting it. Prussia settles down into the same chair she sat in months ago. He walks over with two glasses again, vodka this time.

There’s nothing to cut it with, and that’s another things she unfortunately appreciates about Ivan. He never cuts things down, never files them away to shells – he’d much rather have things fully and completely than adulterated with something to make it easier.

‘We leave day after. I do hope you like my little…present,’ Ivan says, sipping his. ‘Are you nervous?’

‘I don’t know what to be nervous about; meeting my asshole brother who I’d fucking forgive in a heartbeat,’ Prussia says, her voice clear and ringing, ‘Or what’s going to happen to my country.’

‘I’ve been told it’s a meeting on setting up your new government, with Soviet help, of course,’ Russia says. ‘Nothing too bad. And as for your brother, well. I can’t do anything about his feelings, unfortunately.’

Prussia downs her glass and places with on the table. It clacks uncomfortably, and the burn in her throat makes up for the lack of cold when she abruptly stands and walks over to the large window behind his desk.

‘If you could do something,’ Prussia asks, not quite sure why she’s asking, ‘would you?’

‘Of course,’ Ivan says. ‘If it was in my power to do so, of course.’

Prussia doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even notice when he stands up and comes near her, only realizing after his hands touch her. She turns around.

‘Why?’ She asks. There’s something very fragile about her, she feels, in this moment. Something quite breakable. She waits for him to crush it –

But he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses her on the forehead. It’s easy, she’s about a foot shorter than him and he says, ‘You are my friend.’

He says it in German, and Prussia refuses to break, even when the tears sting in her eyes.

.

Aleksyander is waiting downstairs to take her home, alone for once. At her questioning look, he says, ‘Piotr has the flu. He’s in the hospital.’

‘Will he be alright?’ she asks. She wonders when these people became her friends.

Aleksyander shrugs. He’s drastically beautiful in the light, and it shocks Prussia. He’s let his hair grow out, and Prussia doesn’t know if her suggestion had anything to do with it. ‘He’ll be fine. He’s a tough one.’

‘I want to drive,’ she says, instead of answering. ‘Give me the keys.’

Aleksyander looks pensive for a moment, but in the end throws her the keys.

It’s been some time since she’s been in a car, and driving, so she takes it slow for the first five minutes before saying _fuck it,_ and speeding up.

Aleksyander almost screams at her to slow down, and things like, _I’m not immortal, woman, what the hell,_ but Prussia ignores him, mostly. It’s only when she sees the small lake near her house that she abruptly hits the breaks. He immediately opens the door and promptly falls out of the car in his hurry to get out.

‘I’d kiss the ground if it wouldn’t freeze my lips off,’ he says. He’s panting, and some of his hair fall across his forehead.  ‘I’m – I’m driving on the way back.’

‘Don’t be such a pussy,’ Prussia says, laughing. She wants to forget the conversation with Ivan, she doesn’t want to go home to an empty bed and memories whenever she closes her eyes. She wants to laugh, loudly.

‘If being a pussy means being like you, I’ll take it as a fucking compliment,’ Aleksyander says, leaning a hand against the car. He says it in German, and now that they’re alone for once, she can ask.

‘How do you know German?’ She asks him, walking towards the ice.

He follows her. ‘My mother was Prussian. And growing up, my father was never really there to teach me. So she taught me German as well as Russian.’

So he’s one of hers. Well, technically. The thought warms her for some reason, perhaps the small scrape of familiarity.

‘It’s so beautiful out here, isn’t it?’ she asks, more to herself than to him.

‘I lived in a village in Ukraine, back as a child. And there was this small park outside, so small. Nothing grew, of course, but it was always covered in snow,’ Aleksyander says. His breath fogs, and he doesn’t look at her when he speaks. ‘There was this group of children who used to push me into the snow every day, I remember.’

‘You still went?’ Prussia asks.

‘Every day,’ Aleksyander says. He smiles, wide, and she wonders if maybe the reason she likes him so much is because he is nothing like Mark at all. ‘I wondered why the world is so beautiful and people so ugly. I still do.’

Prussia kneels and picks up a handful of snow. She pats it into a snowball, and sends it sailing towards a tree. It hits the bark and pathetically breaks into pieces. ‘I’m going to go see my brother tomorrow.’

‘They’ll decide what to do with my country, then,’ Prussia says. She can’t quite decide as to what she should be feeling right now. She’s so tired. It’s the first time she’s ever confirmed the soldier’s suspicion of her not being completely human.

Aleksyander kneels and does the same, only he takes a long time making sure the ball is completely round. And when he pulls back to throw it, Prussia trains her eyes on the same tree, except the snowball hits _her_ instead, straight on her back. It feels cold through the fur she’s wearing, and she turns a glare towards him, except, except that he’s laughing, head thrown back and suddenly Prussia’s laughing too.

She walks over to him and pushes him to the ground, and it’s sort of satisfying to feel the strength in her arms, still. When he looks up, no longer laughing, but still smiling, she grabs snow and rubs it on his face, and he almost screams, until he grabs her hands and pulls them both up.

‘No more snow for you, Miss Beilschmidt,’ Aleksyander says, catching his breath. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are dusted with red and he licks a snowflake off his lower lip. His hair is wet, and he’s minutes away from shivering, Prussia can tell, mainly because she feels the same.

‘No more snow? In Russia?‘ Prussia asks, walking towards the car. Her face hurts from the cold, from the smiling for so long. His hand is still enveloping hers. ‘That’s a dream that isn’t coming true very soon.’

‘No driving for you, then,’ Aleksyander says, immediately walking her to the other side of the car and opening the door for her. She gives him an unimpressed look, one she’s sure is half-ruined by her own wet hair and imminent shivers.

‘Please,’ he wheedles. ‘If I can’t get rid of the snow, I can at least make sure we get to your house alive and in one piece. That’s not such a bad wish, right?’

Prussia laughs and the sound shocks her. It’s been so long since she’s sincerely laughed. Before the war she thinks, Before the first one, too. Before all of this.  ‘Fine,’ she says, getting in. ‘But I call for next time.’

They’re both shivering by the time the car stops in front of her porch. As she gets out, she looks through the window. ‘Where the fuck do you think you’re going?’

‘Home?’ Aleksyander says, even though he looks like he might keel over and die any moment. ‘I really want to get out of these clothes.’

‘Get the fuck out of the car,’ Prussia says. ‘I’ve got a perfectly serviceable sofa and a more than serviceable fireplace.’

He actually looks pensive, which is something Prussia did not expect of _him_ of all people. The thought is like Russia being gentle; laughable at the least and worrying at the most.

‘Come on, soldier,’ Prussia says. ‘I’m freezing, you’re freezing - ’

‘And you’ve been told the best way to get warm is to sleep naked with another person?’ Aleksyander finishes. There’s that smile again, that raised eyebrow.

‘Okay, fuck off,’ she says. It’s been so long since she’s talked to anyone as freely as she’s talking to him right now. Not that long, but isolation has a way of making time freeze. And it’s not isolation in the literary sense, more the metaphorical sense – because she goes through the same motions everyday – _get up change eat go to russia’s house work_ _visit GDR office work try not to kill someone go home sleep get up._

He shuts the car and gets out, still laughing and murmuring apologies. As they walk in, the darkness isn’t quite so overwhelming.

‘You get the fireplace, I’ll try to find something for you to wear,’ Prussia says, throwing her briefcase near the floor as she turns on the lights. ‘Hopefully there’s still a few shirts left that the cleaners haven’t fucking incinerated or whatever.’

Aleksyander gets started on the fire. ‘Just another coat, if you can. This one’s soaked.’

Later, they settle down near the fire, backs against the sofa and hands around their knees.

They’re sipping hot tea, which has not so surprisingly turned into cold tea in the mere minutes it took for Aleksyander to bring it from the kitchen.  

‘Piotr is going to be so jealous when I tell him about our little excursion,’ Aleksyander says. He has a small, secret smile on his face, like he’s already imagining it. At Prussia’s questioning glance, he adds, ‘Well, the man does like you. Very, very much, in fact.’

‘Really?’ Prussia asks. ‘And what about you?’

‘What about me?’ he turns to look at her, properly. ‘Well, I like you very, very much, as well. You never noticed?’

Prussia shakes her head, mystified. Unlike some nation counterparts, she and Hungary had never used their gender for the advantage, their fighting prowess had been more than satisfactory, and unlike Hungary, when Prussia had discovered her real gender, she’d never decided to go work for a certain stupid not-to-be-named aristocrat.

‘Have you ever been in love, Miss Beilschmidt?’ he asks her.

‘First of all, stop calling me that, you know it annoys me,’ Prussia says. Her hair is finally dry. ‘And yes, I have been. Once. A very long time ago.’

‘Why do you think I do it?’ Aleksyander asks, teasing. ‘How old are you? Truly?’

Prussia whacks him with her hand, but then quickly pulls her hand back into the warm safety of the blanket around her. ‘Don’t die. I’m about eight hundred and fifty years old. Give or take a few, of course, but. Essentially.’

He looks at her for a moment with shock, and then suddenly leans in until his warm breath can be felt on her cheek. ‘Can I tell you a secret?’

Prussia gives him her not impressed look again, and this time it works, because his smile visibly wilts a little. ‘Go on,’ Prussia says, hiding her own smile.

He grins again, wrapping his own blanket around him. ‘I’ve always liked older women, Gilberta.’

Prussia tries to stop the laughter, but it overtakes her and she grabs his face and kisses him. He responds almost immediately, no hesitation and no stopping, and they’re still both laughing for some reason.

‘I’d say let’s move this to the bed for the sake of your old bones,’ Aleksyander teases as Prussia throws the coat off her and moves to his.

‘Say what you will,’ Prussia says, ‘but I’m not the one wearing a woman’s fur coat.’

‘You gave me that coat and -’ he starts, but quickly moves his mouth to better things, mainly the white expanse of her neck. And suddenly it’s too cold, and too warm and she’s finally out of her clothes, only her garter belt done up and his shirt unbuttoned but still on, and they look at each other and decide to forget it.

And as he kisses down her neck, with two fingers inside her and she has one hand around him and the other tangled in the hair he’s growing out, she suddenly says, ‘tell me something about you. Something no one else knows. Something sad.’

‘I pissed my pants once as a child to keep warm,’ he replies, his breath stuttering but his answer no less late for it.

Prussia looks at him for a moment, just looks. And then she bursts out laughing again. ‘That _is_ sad _._ I can’t believe you’d tell me that.’

‘It made you laugh,’ he tells her, sliding down her body until his free hand grips her left thigh, and he presses her legs open. The cold air almost makes her shiver. ‘You deserve to laugh. You should always laugh.’

It makes her smile, bittersweet. He thrusts into her, and Gilberta laughs around a groan and cups his cheek and brings him down to kiss him.

When they’re done, they clean up and promptly get dressed and huddle under a blanket, together this time.

‘Piotr is going to punch me in the face,’ Aleksyander says. His tea is almost freezing cold. ‘Really, really hard.’

Prussia throws him a questioning glance. ‘I don’t understand it, to be honest. I’ve even noticed other soldiers getting. Well, protective of me. And it’s strange because they’re – you’re – well. You’re _his._ ’ _Ivan. Russia._

‘Well, he does care about you, Miss,’ Aleksyander says, his tone more conversational than the serious one his words deserve. ‘Thus, his people care too. And it does help that you’re beautiful.’

Prussia scoffs, but it sits uneasily in the back of her throat. Uninvited feelings that she doesn’t want to make the time for. ‘Beautiful? That sounds like something Piotr would say.’

‘So fucking hard, I tell you. I’ll have a bruise on my jaw, mark my words,’ he says, sharing a glance with her. A small sigh escapes his mouth and then he smiles again, that Aleksyander smile she’s gotten so used to. ‘But hey, this was so fucking worth it.’

Prussia is lost, just a little. Now that the fun is over, she can’t help but remember the looming deadline of tomorrow. She hasn’t even seen Russia’s little _gift._ She tries to imagine if Germany will look different. Tries to remember –

Her thoughts are cut off abruptly when she feels Aleksyander’s mouth against the underside of her knee.

‘And here I was, thinking we’d wait a little more for round two,’ Prussia says, smirking.

He lifts his head up at her words, smiles. ‘I’m no longer a boy, Miss Beilschmidt. My cock may not be ready, but my mouth always is. And the night is long, and you need to relax a little.’

Prussia doesn’t even know why she laughs; maybe it’s the soft line hitching in his smile, or perhaps the way his fingers are curling ever nearer to her cunt. ‘Such oratory, Aleksyander. Well, then. Get to it.’

And throughout, as he dips his tongue into her and his fingers join in, and when Gilberta is close to the edge she imagines thousands of fractured shards cascading in her mind, shattered thoughts, melting pictures –

_ivan and mark and ludwig, long summer nights the way Fritz’s hair looked in the moonlight when she woke up roderich trying to be kind and failing hungary’s rejection poland’s betrayal a small blond haired child she couldn’t help but take with her the first time she held a sword empty victories throughout the second war hollow eyes as they all signed the papers it was her Ludwig said she was responsible she carried out those acts as well mark holding her through cold winter nights begging later prussia please don’t do this please i love you the days she spent remembering him the cold blue of germany’s eyes_

She drags him up, and kisses the taste of herself out of his mouth, before he pushes in again. It’s easier this time, and it’s better now that she’s accepted what’s going to happen. She finds herself laughing, as if she’s making up for something, making up for all those days of loneliness and sadness and hopelessness.

She never even thinks, maybe she’ll have to make up for it later.

Soon.

 .

The next day, Aleksyander is standing outside of her door long before Ivan shows up. Prussia hasn’t exactly slept either, and she spends every minute after sunrise counting the minutes until she has to get ready. It grates to accept it, but for all of Ivan’s bad characteristics, his taste is as impeccable as always; the navy blue suit-skirt he’s got for her it’s strikingly attractive. And obviously tailored, Prussia notes once she’s worn it; the material of her white silk shirt almost caressing against her freshly washed skin. The coat fits perfectly, and the skirt is tight exactly where it needs to be. She hasn’t cut her hair in some time, so it comes up to her shoulders again; she errantly wonders if Ivan would cut it again if she asked him to.

She’s embarrassed to believe it, but she actually spends more time focusing on her appearance than she has in years, decades even. She even puts on lipstick, a dark red shade that matches her eyes. This was another of Ivan’s _gifts_ he gives to his _family._ She wears it regardless. She needs to look strong, unbeaten. She has to meet Germany today. Her brother. She wonders when she started calling him Germany, and not Ludwig. That’s all he’d been to her for so long.

She’s so lost in thought; she has to stumble into her heels when the she hears the car honk downstairs. She allows herself one cursory glance in the mirror, and then leaves before she can think of anything to fix. It itches under her skin to believe that only a few decades ago, she didn’t have a single thought for her appearance in battle, and now here she is, smoothing down her skirt, ensuring the fit of her shirt.

She’s worn one of her fur coats, but the chill climbs up her stocking covered legs like an old acquaintance you’d planned on seeing soon. She suppresses the urge to shiver, and cracks a small smile at Aleksyander’s bright eyed grin. 

Ivan smiles at her; he’s leaning against the car, as big as ever. Prussia’s small emergent smile dies right there. He suddenly reminds her of everything she has to do, everything she must face. She still walks down her porch fairly fast, keeping her eyes fixed on a spot over Ivan’s shoulder. Ivan opens the car door for her, and at Prussia’s questioning look, says, ‘I’ll be driving today. Aleksyander can have a small break.’

The drive is long from her house, but Prussia can’t sleep on the way. She can’t stop fidgeting, her knee bouncing up and down, up and down, and she doesn’t even notice until Ivan’s large hand covers her knee. He doesn’t look at her, just softly says, ‘Stop.’

When Ivan parks, Prussia finds herself stilling; she can’t help herself. Ivan notices, because he’s the kind of creep who notices every minute detail.

‘Prussia,’ Ivan starts, and Prussia can’t help the onslaught of emotion.

‘Don’t. Don’t, I don’t know why – why would you drag me here? Why did I agree to come?’ Prussia’s words leave her in a way that reminds her of Mark’s blabbering on the last - ‘God, Ivan, why.’

It’s the first time she’s said his name in a way that isn’t a drawl, a joke; that doesn’t involve a mocking tone. If he notices this, he doesn’t respond to it. Instead, he curls his palm against her cheek. His other hand brushes up against the crown of her head, fingers carding through her hair.

‘Come now,’ he says. He’s close enough for Prussia to feel his breath, hot against her mouth. ‘Braveheart, Prussia. It would be a shame to hide away that beautiful suit.’

Prussia doesn’t know where she finds the strength to smile, just a little and say, ‘Just the suit, huh?’

‘You are very comely, Gilberta,’ he says. She can see the small corner where his mouth tilts up. Here, in sunlight, his pale skin and platinum hair contrast brilliantly. He looks beautiful; in this severely untouchable yet blindingly obvious way. ‘I thought my intentions were clear, if unwelcome.’

In a way, now that Gilberta thinks about it, his intentions have been clear; none of that muddled up shit she thought they were. They’ve been the most clear of all the Allies, and the entire Axis.  

‘You thought right,’ she says. She feels the sudden urge to say _Thank You,_ except she feels she’s already said enough. ‘Let’s go.’

His non-existent smile deepens, and he gets out, opening the door for her.  

He takes his own over coat off and helps Prussia out of her fur. She notices his charcoal black suit; he cuts an intimidating figure. As he places them in the backseat, she can’t help but be just a little grateful for the support he’s given her.

Once he’s turned, he extends his arm to her; a gesture that for once does not feel as if it has a particular motive behind it. Maybe that’s why she takes it.

When they enter the building, he lets her hand go. Prussia doesn’t understand why he’d do that – Maybe he’d known that she was going to do it anyway, that she could not bear the thought of people associating them together in any capacity, but what she does understand is that she’s felt grateful to him far more than someone should feel towards their captor.

.

Germany looks terrible, and she tells him as much. He’s being shy again, blubbering more so than he ever has, can barely meet her eyes. She holds his hand, sits beside him even when there’s clearly two separate sides. Ivan doesn’t say anything either, doesn’t even acknowledge that a territory technically under his control is sitting on the Allied side. No one else does either, not France, not America, not England. In the moment, she wonders if it’s common decency.

Later, though. Later, stuck between the darkness of the night, when it’s just your pillow and you and no fucking room for lies, she thinks it was pity.

 _Ask me for forgiveness just once,_ Prussia keeps thinking. _I’ll forgive you. Once._

Later, she’ll wonder if this is what Mark was thinking the day she –

That’s when the meeting starts. But nothing really hits Prussia until England announces it, clearly and resolutely; the air of finality to it causing a pause in all proceedings.

_The state of Prussia has as of today – de facto ceased to exist. This being seen as a punishment clearly required on accounts of genocide and all war crimes carried out during and before the period of 1939 to 1945._

For some reason, Prussia can’t help but think of Mark. She knows she’s going to cry. She knows she’s going to break in front of these countries, who she’s called enemies and friends, whom she’s hated and fought with and against. Who are like her, who should understand that there is no crime that justifies erasing a nation. She always thought she’d die in battle, her kings’ blood on the floor – she wasn’t meant to be _erased._

All she can see is Russia rising from his seat, in her mind today; he doesn’t look as large as he usually does. She is held to sanity by a slowly breaking thread, and she can’t look anywhere right now. Someone squeezes her hand, and Prussia slowly turns her head.

_Gilberta, please don’t do this. I love you, please –_

_I’m sorry, Mark. I have no choice._

_But you did, didn’t you,_ Prussia thinks, staring into her brother’s eyes. _So similar,_ she thinks _. So very similar_.

But there’s something about the horror in her brother’s eyes that is unsettling as of now. There’s something in them that she can’t quite put her finger on, but it’s enough to make Gilberta pull her hand away, so abrupt, her brother gaping at her.

‘You, you knew,’ she spits out.  She’s aware that she’s screaming and Gilberta does not care. The unfairness of it is ripping her open, ripping through her; every bone aches, each sinew tears with the agony of injustice. ‘ _You._ ’

‘Gilberta, no, please, sister, I didn’t – please, I didn’t have a choice, please,’ Germany is screaming, tears streaming down his face. ‘Gilberta, please, I didn’t have a _choice_.’

There’s something about those words that takes Gilberta over the edge; later she’ll understand why. It’s exactly what she said to Mark, knowing all the while she had a choice. Hearing it mirrored from the same person she has raised, is almost enough to kill her.

Gilberta thinks maybe it wasn’t the union that killed mark, but the sheer heartbreak of seeing someone he had raised up to strength turning him to his downfall. She thinks: _Nothing could kill me. Nothing, but this._

In the background, she can hear Russia’s voice booming, as he stands in front of America, flanked by Britain and France. He’s asking something, there is no mention of his small ever-present smile on his face. ‘East Germany was supposed to have a self-democratic government set up by the Soviet Union; that was one of the reasons this meeting was called. I thought the entire point of being Allies was to be at the very least informed of decisions, and be a party to these. This is a slight not against the state of East Germany, but also against the Soviet Union.’

‘ _How could you?_ ’ Prussia screams. She feels her throat is raw from the sheer will it is taking her to not just wail. ‘I raised you, I made you what you are today, you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me, you fucking son of a bitch, _how could you do this to me_?’

England coughs, seeing as Russia and America are involved in their own conversation, and answers: ‘Prussia, your nation is regarded as synonymous for bloodshed and militarism, it’s only for the benefit of - ’

‘HOW FUCKING COULD YOU?’ Prussia roars. England winces, but Prussia can tell he doesn’t exactly regret anything he’s done. ‘How could any of you? I’ve fought with all of you, and I’ve beaten most of you, but never have I fucking tried to wipe you off the fucking map!’

‘Sister, please, I didn’t know, please, I didn’t have a choice, please – ’ Her brother’s blabbering only makes her rage curdle. The heartbreak is beyond anything she has ever felt. The betrayal cuts down any lost love she feels, it feels an awful lot like being torn apart from the inside. ‘Sister, I’m sorry, Gilberta, I’m _so sorry -_ ’

_Unforgivable. Unforgivable. Unforgivable. Unforgivable. Unforgivable. Unforgivable._

Gilberta is seconds away from collapsing, before she feels someone hold her hand, feels an arm sliding around her shoulders. 

‘Come now, Gilberta,’ Russia says, nothing else. He pulls her away from the madness; she can still hear her brother’s errant screams in the background. All her mind says is this: _unforgivable._

Gilberta thinks, _I’m sorry_ , _Mark, I don’t have a choice._

 The drive back is unbearable; rage and hurt war for dominancy. This is a defeat she cannot come back from.

Russia’s hand is warm around her and Gilberta cannot swallow down the lump of betrayal that seems to be choking her. She has gone silent now, completely silent – and she thinks no one can ever understand the amount of strength it takes for her to walk straight, to walk with her head somewhat up, to not collapse and just fucking _break._ It takes everything from her, from the lining of her bones and the sinews of her muscles and each bloody beat of her fragile, human, heart that can never encompass who she is – it takes everything – every memory of pride, of sorrow, of joy of humiliation, it takes all the pain and all of the pleasure, every breathe she’s ever taken seems to weigh down on her chest as she struggles to follow one measured step by another one.

‘Not yet,’ Russia says, ‘Not yet.’

In the distance Gilberta can see the stark white of sunbeams shining through the doorway at the end.

‘Not yet,’ Ivan says.

She is made of stone in the ride back; Aleksyander is not present at her house, and she is surprised that it is still standing, but at present Gilberta will take anything familiar.

She makes no move to open her door, and Ivan takes the lead, pushes the door in and then her.

Gilberts stays in her entrance; this house has seen so many of her memories. So many of them, she thinks. _Mark and Ludwig and Friedrich and –_

 The stark cracking in her bones arouses in her a dangerous sort of feeling; a restlessness that has forever threatened to carry her away – full of longing and misery, of obsession and nostalgia and the unforgiving premonition of never finding home. She is filled with now with a strange sense of indifference, and indifference so overpowering it bubbles over into vindictiveness, an ever-burning, all-consuming vindictiveness that brings with itself a single certainty: it is here now, and it isn’t leaving.

This house has seen her return glorious and humiliated; hurt and standing nevertheless. It has seen her heartbreak, and her confusion, her surprise and her misery. It has seen everything. _It has not fallen_ , Gilberta thinks. She thinks too loudly. _It has not fallen._

‘Prussia,’ Ivan says. He is looking at her as if she only occupies this home and no longer owns it. ‘Prussia.’

‘Not yet,’ East Germany says. ‘Not yet.’

 

 


End file.
